Still Into You
by hulksmashed
Summary: "Tell me you love me," Hermione slurred, an air of inebriated confidence shining through her words as she courageously stepped towards her. "Tell me that you have always wanted me," she whispered, her hand driveling down her blouse. "That you've been dreaming of this moment," she said, and Fleur Delacour was suddenly rendered speechless as Hermione sighed. "Tell me."
1. Chapter 1

Fleur Delacour was an observant woman, not at all curious nor the least bit interested in the most peculiar woman that stumbled across the cobblestone path beneath her. No, not in the least was she fascinated; nor allured, she was merely examining the pair that stood near the terrace of her flat. Their laughter emanating around her, a sound both precarious and inviting as she listened – no, observed – the women as she sighed.

She sipped her Moscato on occasion, stirring the wine as she held the savory liquid against her lips. Her other hand tipping the bud of her burning cigarette as she listened to the sifting sound of feet shuffling and laughter humming below her.

"There's something about you, Hermione," whispered the one nearest, and Fleur could not help but roll her eyes at the predictability of the statement. "You're a stunning girl," she continued, and lifting her cigarette Fleur feigned disinterest, inhaling another breath of nicotine as she sighed.

Beneath her, Hermione twirled a strand of the other's scarf. "I'm not as interesting as you'd like to believe, I'm afraid, and there isn't a thing alluring about me," she murmured. From above, Fleur imagined the flush of red that lighted her complexion. "Unless you count alphabetizing your bookshelves, and knitting, that is," Hermione added, and she would not see Fleur smile match her own as she laughed.

"Let me come up," the other suggested, and Fleur stiffened, her breath hitching in her throat as she exhaled a trail of smoke from her lungs. "I would love to see your place," the woman continued, and Fleur scoffed. Imagining that it was not the place alone that the woman wished to explore.

"Perhaps another time, love, it's getting rather late," Hermione muttered. Fleur's lips pursed around the cigarette as she leant her head in witness of their farewell. She tiptoed in the woman's embrace, a chaste kiss meeting her cheek and relieved, Fleur slumped back into her chair. "I had a wonderful time though, thank you for tonight."

"You're most welcome, Hermione," the woman answered, and if she had not been nauseated enough Fleur watched as the woman's mouth pressed against her palm. "I hope to do it again," she muttered against flesh.

"Me too."

Fleur promptly simmered the last of her cigarette, wine in hand as she stomped into her apartment. "Comment pouvait-elle être si aveugle," she huffed. Ignoring the hissing mewl beside her as the cat sauntered past. "I cannot believe that she could be so foolish," Fleur exclaimed, muttering to herself aloud as the familiar rustling of a door knob met her ears.

Composed and hurried, Fleur tossed a quilt over her shoulder, all but diving for the sofa as she shut her eyes. Being sure, of course, to finish off the remains of her wine as she then feigned sleep.

"Fleur? I'm home," Hermione called. Fleur heard her purse plop against the counter. "Bugger off, Crookshanks, I'm tired," she continued. Undoing the clasp of her heels, a manicured hand held against the wall as she sighed, and Fleur recognized that sigh as she braced herself for contact.

"Honestly, whatever will I do with you?" she whispered, and the blonde's heart tightened in her chest as a hand brushed through her hair. "I do not believe she even uses her bed, Crookshanks," Hermione continued. Having paused for a moment to adjust the quilt higher atop her shoulder, and Fleur fought to withhold her smile.

"Goodnight, Fleur."

It was then as soon as she entered, Hermione had went, as she descended down the hall to her bedroom. Fleur's eyes squinting open to watch her go as she mouthed her own farewell.

"Bonne nuit, Hermione."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Loving your kind words. I wanted this to be a one shot, but my head couldn't deny the push to make it more. I have much too many stories going at this point, but I suppose one more wouldn't hurt. I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

* * *

She folded her arms across her chest as she watched her roommate turn with an illicit moan. Of course, having not intended to stare at the bare shoulder that slid from beneath sheets, Fleur turned in an attempt to honor decency as she leant against the threshold. "Cherie, you have overslept," Fleur rasped, and a mumbled groan would answer her.

"Hermione," she repeated, and her friend's eyes fluttered open to the call. "You're rendezvous has taken a toll on your punctuality, it seems," Fleur lulled, a lithe whisper that carried through the room as she turned. "I have the kettle on if you so wish to indulge yourself before work, and buttered croissants are on the counter."

It was prompt, and subtle though Fleur wished that the underlying message had made it toward the rousing brunette as she hurried for the terrace. She had hoped that the girl would indulge her for once, and perhaps breakfast before she rushed through her morning paces.

She thumbed a packet of matches, the filter of another cigarette dangling from her lips as the morning's draft wind greeted her. Her hair clipped atop her head, a bun holding it in place though strands had escaped the tightened contraption, propelling around her as she sighed. Casting a glance toward a trough of residents that lingered in wait for the coming tram. Unseen from the bustle of men and women that hurried about the cluttered street below her, Fleur was certain that not a soul of them had stopped to take in their surroundings. That no one had bothered to see the coming sunrise that lifted in the skies above. Gripping the banister, she lit her cigarette; the familiar flush of lightheadedness seeping over her as the nicotine soon enveloped her senses.

"You're not cold?" Hermione questioned.

Startled, Fleur tipped her cigarette. Hermione approaching her, a cup cradled in one hand, and the other clutching a quilt curled tight around her as she shivered and Fleur muttered a response. "Non, not so much."

"I hope chamomile is a good substitute for ginger, as we have run out of your favorite," Fleur continued, and Hermione smiled.

"Ginger is your favorite, you git," Hermione laughed, having caught on to the blonde's suggestion, and while Fleur would not join in her laughter she grinned.

"Oui, and we have run out," the blonde expressed, and Hermione nudged her with the warmth of another laugh falling from her mouth.

Her head coming to rest against Fleur's shoulder, Hermione sighed. "If I have some time before work I'll head to the shop to replenish your addiction," Hermione whispered. Her eyes coming to trace over the woman's burning cigarette. "Though an addiction is but one of several with the French, I doubt I'll never keep up with you," she replied, and Fleur exhaled.

"It is much too early for your bickering, non?" Fleur questioned. "I do not suppose you could provide me with at least an hour of peace in the mornings to recuperate," she exclaimed, and a hint of sarcasm traced her words as Hermione scoffed.

"I do not bicker," Hermione murmured. Her huff expressing of refusal, and Fleur laughed as her arm tucked around her.

"You bicker, Hermione, and it is most endearing," she assured, under her breath she added with a smile, "if not also a bit insufferable."

Hermione sipped her tea, a stifled grin brimmed against her lips. "I'm going to ignore you now and get dressed," she mumbled, stooping down as she ducked out of the woman's embrace. "If you were any kind of friend, you'd stop nurturing that bloody twig and help me decide what to wear," Hermione offered, her eyes lingering on the cigarette as she hurried through the threshold.

Fleur understood, of course, that it was a suggestion encased with innocence, and for that reason alone she was hesitant to follow. Though rubbing the bud of the cigarette out against the hardened banister, the blonde stepped inside.

* * *

"You're revealing a bit much for an interview, Hermione," Fleur observed. Merely observing, that is, as she watched the brunette slip into her dress. Twirling a moment as she glanced at the mirror. Biting on her lip as she brushed her tousled hair.

"Considering this is coming from a woman who teaches prepubescent children whilst knickerless, and considers thigh length skirts in winter to be a thing of modesty, I am not entirely convinced by your statement," Hermione hummed. Fleur, in natural response to the accusation, crossed her legs, and Hermione ever seldom succeeding in causing the blonde to blush, seemed to grin at the accomplishment as she fastened a button of her shirt.

Fleur sighed, her hand twirling with an unraveled piece of string loosened from a cushioned pillow as Hermione adjusted her top. "For your information, I did that once, and it was incidental as I had forgotten to do the laundry," Fleur argued, a lithe whisper in comparison to the brunette's exuberance as Hermione stumbled into her shoes.

"You're worried, Fleur," Hermione replies, "and it's charming, and I appreciate it more than you realize, but it's unnecessary," she continued, and lifting her leg, her balance faltered as she instinctively reached for Fleur's arm.

Fleur obliged, a hand coming to rest at her waist as Hermione hopped into her boot. "Considering this is to come from a woman unable to lace her own shoes, and much oblivious to her own charms, I do not believe it to be unnecessary," she challenged, choosing the brunette's own sarcasm, and Hermione blinked. "You find the good in people, Hermione, even when their intentions are unsightly, and I am worried that that you will be taken advantage of."

"I think you're overestimating the allure of a purple knit blouse, Fleur Delacour," Hermione replied. "Now could you stop being so worrisome and help me fasten this necklace?" she finished, and releasing her arm Hermione straightened her stance. "I can never reach the clasp."

Fleur clutched the pillow in her arms, her head plopped against the cushion as she sighed. "Of course, come here," Fleur answered, and she ignored the flutter in her stomach as Hermione lifted her tresses overhead. She hid the trembling poise of her hand as she slipped the sterling chain around her friend's neck. Her breath brushing against her flesh, and oh how she wished it to be her lips that roamed such an inviting warmth as she sighed. Her nimble fingers slipping the chinks of the chain through the opened loop.

"There you are, cherie," Fleur murmured, for a moment as the heat of the room seemed to rise, wishing that Hermione had instead rushed out the door. Stumbling through the busied streets for the same busied tram as her chest pained to touch her.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, silence passing over them. "I suppose I'll see you after work," she added, and Fleur smiled.

"Oui, I shall be waiting."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: You bunch are flattering and I again have had much too much wine, and I hope very much so that this chapter is lacking of many grammatical errors upon waking in the morning. Please enjoy, and it stands that any feedback given is a day made in my book. So thank you!

* * *

Students hurried through the door, shoveling crumpled parchment and quills into their bags in a rush for the opened threshold, however, a fair portion of them had lingered to which Fleur had sighed in preparation for what was to come as she smiled.

"Merci, Monsieur Thorn, you are much too kind," she murmured, and near agape his mouth stuttered a response as Fleur plucked the apple from his hand.

"You're welcome, Professor," he blushed, and the flush of red had reminded her of Hermione and she could not help but find him charming, as she escorted him along with the other children stood shuffling in wait for her to notice them. Fleur, then withholding a laugh as the young man stumbled, his shoulder bumping against the opened frame as he bid her farewell.

She placed her treat into the basket of several odds and ends given to her over the course of her morning classes. Stopping to gather her belongings as she gathered their term papers, and a lesson she had procrastinated on for far too long as she sighed.

"Here I thought, all this time that I was the teacher's pet," Hermione professed, her arms crossed as she leant against the door. Fleur's smile increased as she was not aware of the girl's lingered presence. Turning toward her expectant eyes, Fleur laughed as Hermione twirled a plastic bag before her. "I don't suppose you could add another gift to your pile then, hm?" she questioned with a wink.

Indulging the flirtatious brunette, inwardly knowing it to be a friendly ruse, Fleur smiled. "Of course, though if it is another apple I am afraid I must protest," the blonde said, the mere though having her scrunch her nose in detest, and Hermione laughed.

"It's ginger tea, and another one of your favorites," she answered, the brunette stepping through the classroom. Handing the bag to Fleur, Hermione smiled as she opened the contents. "Honestly, I couldn't resist when I saw it," she continued, and Fleur lifted a perfectly plucked brow at the sight. Hermione shuffled, her thumbs twiddling together as she waited for a response.

Expressionless, the bag unveiled a leather bound book, a buckled strap tightened around the seal, and Fleur knew it instantly as her hand brushed the binding. "Mon dieu, Hermione," she whispered. Hermione stilled as she studied her reaction.

"You once told me that you loved sonnets, in particular that of Milton's pieces and well," she stammered. "I was running inventory and I stumbled upon it," she added. "Stumbled upon, meaning I did not at all plan this, or consider gift wrapping it."

Fleur laughed. Hermione and that welcomed blush that flooded against her cheeks both humbling and radiant, and the blonde enveloped her as she sighed. "You are most thoughtful, Hermione, thank you," she whispered, and closing her eyes she breathed in the scent of her as the smell of lavender all but enveloped her.

Relieved, Hermione grinned. "You're welcome, Professor," she said, a bashful glance as then nudged her arm. "I don't suppose this means you'll be giving me higher marks now too, does it?" she questioned, a mock innocence telling of her playful intentions, and Fleur smiled.

"Perhaps," she replied, a wink of her own expressing her thought as she laced her arm through Hermione's shoulder. "Let us be going then, I shall escort you home," she added.

"You live with me, Fleur, you have no choice in the matter," Hermione noted, deadpanned.

Fleur grasped her book, her other arm entwined with Hermione's as she hummed in response. "Oui, but you see, cherie, that is merely a technicality."

* * *

Eight months ago Hermione was hesitant about living with the meticulous blonde. She personified narcissism, and her friends loathed her, though for reasons Hermione was still not certain of, but piecing that reasoning along with her own hesitance Hermione was positive of one thing. Fleur Delacour was inconsistent and ever changing in a world that seemed stilled in it's own ideals.

Hermione could not categorize this girl, as she was exasperating one minute, and at other times she was a comfort. It was altogether infuriating, if she were to be honest. That sense of unpredictability, that element of unknowingness, but on the other end of it, it was exhilarating.

On their stroll to the apartment, Fleur had plucked a dandelion, spinning it absently in her hand. These were the moments Fleur would surprise her, and more so, as she would tuck the stem in place behind her ear. Little thought in mind, Hermione presumed as Fleur smiled approvingly at it's placement before resuming down the path. Her eyes drifting then from the flower tucked in Hermione's hair and on to the humming of distant crickets and the cloudless skies above them.

Hermione reclaimed the blonde's arm, leaning against her as she sighed. "Have you ever been in love, Fleur?" she questioned, and it was humorous to think that after all their time spent together Hermione had not known the answer herself as the blonde smiled.

"To be in love is fleeting, cherie. It is a gust of wind soon to pass," Fleur muttered, and in her illusive response was meaning as she furthered in explanation. "But oui, I have been in love," she answered. "Though I have not loved before, as the two are an entirely different species."

Confused, Hermione propped her chin against the blonde's shoulder. "Tell me, do your students understand you when you babble like this?" Hermione asked, and Fleur laughed.

"To be in love, Hermione, it is magnificent and ideal, but in a moment if you were to falter you would surely fall. Whereas, to love, that is a thing unbinding and wholesome."

"It is pure and an unending pleasure," Fleur continued, and while Hermione understood her meaning, she could not help but smile as she suggested plainly.

"Perhaps then we should invest in a parachute."

Fleur laughed. "Peut-être à la place, je vais vous attraper," she replied, and while Hermione hadn't the slightest of clues as to what she had said, the sentiment held in her eyes was enough as they hurried closer to their home.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: You're feedback scares off the writer's block in me. It can be a gaping hole of sorts at times, and I appreciate you're kind words clearing out that clutter. Thank you all again, and enjoy.

* * *

She hadn't had much to drink, but there was a hint on her breath as she hurried through the door that suggested otherwise. Hermione bumbled and stumbled about, and with a pause; draped in a quilt, her hair bed tousled, Fleur Delacour squinted through the dim lit light of the lamp that shone through the room. Hermione stumbling for her bed as she stifled a hiccup, and Fleur could taste the smile that befell her lips as she sighed.

That weekend approached them far sooner then Fleur had anticipated. Of course, whilst the blonde had been invited to come along with her, the incessant need to grade papers, and curl into the pages of Milton, had given Fleur the gracious advantage of declining her offer. Her efforts well practiced it seemed, as once upon a time Hermione's chocolate coated eyes would have surely been her undoing, though that evening it was seamless. Her intentions being to avoid Hermione and her flushing red dress. Fleur's hopes being to ignore the glances she received, and the lips that scathed against her own.

While she was a martyr for many a friend, Fleur could not bear to suffer the sight again. Hermione's smile, that gentleness in her eyes. It tore her to pieces that it was not her that summoned that happiness from her. However, it would seem that her efforts had been fruitless. That while she had ignored the evening stroll amongst enemies, Fleur had neglected the inebriated beauty that crawled toward her.

"I missed you tonight," she stammered, and Fleur having remained silent lifted the quilt to invite her in a much familiar motion. Hermione slipping inside the mattress, her leg gliding in place atop her own as an arm soon encircled her waist. Fleur stiffened, that uncomfortable allure that often arose in her awakening inside her as Hermione's head plopped to rest against her chest. "You should've come along, I would've saved you a seat at the bar," Hermione continued.

Fleur hid her laugh, though the tremor in her voice she had hoped to stifle as Hermione shifted closer against her. "Mm, I imagine you would have, mon coeur, though something tells me that if I had come you would not have saved me much to drink," she whispered, and Hermione breathed a laugh as well, her lips brushing against her as she slurred in response. "Fred and George are a miserable influence on you," the blonde added.

Hermione smiled, and Fleur's breath caught as the feel of that grin pressed along her fresh. "That's a bold claim, considering your night caps proceed well into the morning," the brunette scolded, a feather light whisper.

"I suppose you were the belle of the ball then tonight?" Fleur continued, and the brunette sighed.

"No, I presume Seamus was the head of that chariot tonight," Hermione managed to murmur. "In the span of mere hours, that bumbling idiot proceeded to snog near every girl in Britain."

"Or attempted, rather," Hermione added. "Lavender near pummeled him with her pint, and Parvarti wasn't much far behind her," she noted. Her hand absently would tug the blonde closer, a warmth humming in between them. "You know, you're so warm, Fleur," she proclaimed, a bold and sudden leap in conversation, and Fleur swallowed as she attempted to keep in time with the brunette as her own hand rest against her arm.

"I suppose that I am," Fleur answered, and Hermione's thumb brushed circles along her stomach. She stiffened, hoping that the racing thump of her heart could not be heard as she cleared her throat. "You ought to rest now, Hermione," she suggested, and huddled against her the girl hummed. "I do not wish you to be ill tomorrow," Fleur continued, and Hermione provided a wan smile. "You must sleep, or you will be most intolerable."

"But you'll take care of me," she whispered, and Fleur could tell it in her tone that she was falling to sleep, as she held her tighter. "You'll take such good care of me, Fleur."

"Oh?" Fleur questioned, raising her brow though she knew the girl could see the gesture. "How can you be so certain of that?" she challenged, and Hermione's chin tucked against her neck, the youngest chuckling in retort.

"Because I'm yours, Fleur, and you must."

She was inebriated, Fleur thought, and in seconds a light snoring was heard pressed against her. Proving her theory as the brunette slept, and slept soundly at that. Adjusting the quilt around them, Fleur sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: On a note to my absence I have but one dreaded phrase. I hate the holidays, and I persistently hate my mother disapproving of my apartment, and her turkey was dry. There. That clutter of emotions have lifted. Sorry for the delay. Enjoy.

* * *

"Not happening, Fleur," Hermione croaked. Her hand clutched around a sweat drenched pillow, buried in a coffin of sheets as she groaned. Inevitably and predictably, hung-over, and persistent Fleur paid no mind to the fact. Or, to Hermione's persistent scowl, as she nudged the plate of breakfast closer. "Bon appetit, mademoiselle," said Fleur, hiding the beginnings of a smile; finding Hermione both adorable and increasingly aggravating as that scowl turned feral. "I made us scones, your favorite."

"Scones are your favorite, you git," she responded, her hair a tangled mess, and in time to her quip Fleur laughed. "Must you be so insufferable?" Hermione asked.

"Oui," the blonde deadpanned, and to Hermione's dried expression her smile deepened.

Reluctant, Hermione soon rose from the bed. In need of the warmth that resided under her covers, she proceeded toward her, draping the quilt around her as she tugged it along. She felt a sudden rush of nausea, and a dash of regret as she steadied her hand against the bedpost. Fleur studied her, a knowing glance befalling her lips though remaining silent she waited, and Hermione groaned. "Remind me to never drink again."

Fleur blinked. "But I am French," she proclaimed, and with that she sauntered from the room, and furrowed in her blanket, Hermione waddled after her.

"You're incorrigible, is what you are," Hermione added, a hint of humor laced somewhere beneath the troughs of her throbbing temple. She rubbed her eyes, that dull sting dwelling against them as she moaned. "Honestly, you should be the protagonist in this story, Fleur, the one propped against my shoulder muttering for me to do better. To be better, and instead you've a pitchfork; edging me on."

Fleur scoffed. "If you wish me to coddle you, mon coeur, I could start with your taste in wine, as it is unbearably English. But non, I am not your keeper. If one wishes to drink then I will find them a glass."

It was moments later, a grumbling sentiment from Hermione and a smirk from Fleur, that the two would sit together on the opened terrace. Fleur with her cigarette, Hermione with her scone. The blonde ever so subtle in her glances, as the brunette nudged a pair of sunglasses higher up against her nose.

"Ronald is coming tonight," Hermione muttered, wincing as the sun was much too bright. Briefly she explained that he and the other piece of their bumbling trio, Harry, were hoping to have their ritual meet at his loft. Though for reason's unspoken, and a rather last minute effort on Hermione's part, she had welcomed them to their home instead, to which Fleur nodded, in acceptance. "I thought you'd like to join us."

Fleur considered it a moment, pressing the filter to her mouth. Knowing that while the relationship with her and and the freckled faced youth was a tense one, she wasn't beyond being social with him. Though his eyes were consistently upon her chest whilst doing so, she supposed it was a small price to be had. Of course, a matter altogether different, was that of his sister, she thought.

"No one else is coming, oui?" Fleur questioned, bringing her worries to a head, and as Hermione stiffened, she more than had her answer as she sighed. "I see," she replied, though Hermione hurried with an explanation.

"I know that you've had your differences with one another," Hermione started.

"She calls me phlegm, Hermione," Fleur interrupted.

"She used to call you phlegm, Fleur, thankfully she's grown past that," the youngest corrected, and the blonde rolled her eyes, as if that statement alone were to magically lift the tension. Refusing to meet Hermione's stare, she inhaled.

"This is true, though I believe now she has settled with 'trollop' instead."

"Fleur," Hermione argued. "I know that you both are a bit hesitant when it comes to one another, but I promise you, that while she has her moments, and several I might add, they won't be directed at you."

"I promise."

Fleur had the discussion at arms length, wishing to trust Hermione, but unable to offer that benefit of the doubt. Not when she had ever persistently sought to give it to Hermione's friend, and ever consistently was turned down. To that, and her bundled discretions, Fleur was most uncertain. "I suppose I can do nothing but dissuade you on the matter, as your name is also on the lease," Fleur expressed. "I will never tell you that you cannot have guest, but do know that I am not pleased."

She scrubbed her cigarette against the ledge of the banister, and started for the door. "Not in the slightest."

Hermione, of course, followed her. Scone still uneaten, cupped in her hand. "You'll be here though, won't you?" she questioned, in toe with the blonde's footsteps as her path led for the bedroom. "Harry hasn't seen you in ages, and Ron has always been fond of you," Hermione encouraged, half pleaded and the reasoning behind that desperation, Fleur was unsure of as she stepped through the banister and headed toward her dresser.

"Monsieur Ronald has a fondness toward my breast, Hermione, nothing more," she proclaimed. "In fact, I doubt in the times we have met he has not once seen my face," Fleur confessed, rustling through her clothes, and Hermione was silent, not denying the fact as she tossed a ruffled sweater across the bed. "He also drools," she added.

Hermione shuddered. "I'll see to it he behaves, love," she said, and Fleur paused a moment, registering the name Hermione had muttered. She hoped miserably that her reaction of her words had not been seen, nor the blush that crept along her neck as she sighed. "Please, Fleur, I don't want you huddled up in your room tonight alone. It's a evening with friends, not a beheading."

"Precisely that, Hermione, it is an evening with your friends, not ours," Fleur replied. Seeming to have gathered her wits about her as she turned on the brunette for another go-around. "Other than Harry, the chances of this gathering ending well are as probable as me cuddling your cat," she continued, and the sound of a hiss echoed through the hall.

"You'll at least have dinner with us?" Hermione mumbled. She plopped the untouched scone against the nightstand. Her stance straightening as she stepped all the more closer. Her head lifting, Fleur a head taller than her even as the brunette was strapped in heels. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

"I just want to spend time with you, Fleur," the brunette confessed. "Strangely enough I see more of them than I do my own roommate," she continued, and Fleur sighed. Hoping to believe it, and nearly feeling it as Hermione tilted her head in a glance. "I miss you, if you want honesty."

That smile that drove her wild strained against Hermione's lips, and as she expelled a breath, Fleur wished then, that if they were the slightest bit closer, those lips would perhaps capture her own. Though shaking her head of that thought, and dismissing those ruminations, Fleur reclaimed her composure and managed to match her smile as she nodded in return.

"So long as you protect me," she answered. Hermione's sudden rush to embrace her had made her wish she had accepted earlier, as the youngest squealed into her arms.

"Always."


End file.
